Similar Opposites
by KateToast
Summary: A reflection of two people over four years. TruJack. Spoilerish for the second season. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tru Calling.

**A/N**: First TC fic. This may seem confusing, which I apologize for, but it explains itself. Heavily Tru/Jack.

**SIMILAR OPPOSITES**

**XXX**

It was odd, really, how two people so connected on such a deep level could never utter three specific meaningful words to each other, even if they felt it on the inside. Four years of destiny throwing them together, and nothing. The fact that they were exact opposites may have played into it. Feelings between the two were supposedly forbidden, and, even if that wasn't necessarily true, it was seen as such.

It was simple on the outside: she was life, he was death. She was light, he was dark. She saved lives, he made sure fate had its way.

Ironically, you could go as far as to call them soul mates instead of nemeses. That's what they had become anyway, in essence. Sometimes the line dividing the two became so blurred that one of them went over to the other side, if only for a brief moment in time.

Every day it was getting harder for them to see the line.

She, being labeled 'life', and thus fighting against destiny for as long as she could, attempted to ignore the sparks. He, being labeled 'death' (or 'fate', as he would rather be called), and thus accepting and making sure anything that was supposed to happen happened, discovered the sparks early on and embraced them.

It was their shared weight of the world on their shoulders that finally brought it all to a head.

She'd won against him numerous times, saving a life and feeling the victory of it all when she'd see his calculating expression, trying to figure out how to make sure the next victim stayed dead. He'd helped her out on many occasions, forcing her to open her eyes to the fact that she couldn't save everyone, feeling the triumph of it all when he'd see her sorrowful glance towards the recently departed.

She'd told him, once, after he'd let a woman named Megan fall from Edison Tower, that she'd wished it were he dead on the ground. He'd agreed. Now, though, nearly three years later, she's not so sure she could ever actually get those words out, and he's not so sure that if she did ever say it, that he could concur.

He'd told her, once, after she'd saved a boyfriend of hers named Jenson for the fourth time, that fate was _really_ trying to tell her something about him. After much denial and time spent babysitting said boyfriend, she'd reluctantly agreed, and had let fate step in and run its course. Now, though, nearly three years later, she's wiser, and smartened up, and if one specific person keeps dying, she doesn't need to be told twice that fate really won't allow her to save them, and he's proud of that fact, because it makes his job a little easier, and nudges her ever so closer to him.

After Jenson's sudden demise, she'd decided that, for the sake of her sanity, she shouldn't allow herself to get attached to another guy for as long as she had the calling. She didn't want to risk pushing anyone closer to death than they already may be.

Unexpectedly (to her at least), this resolve only shoved her closer to Death himself.

It had been nearing the two-year anniversary of his coming into the role of fate's assistant (and, to an extension, the role of her living opposite) when he'd finally acted on their neglected attraction that had been there all along. Though they still worked for different sides, he'd helped her save victims; she'd let some go. They'd developed a sort of understanding under the pretense of _not_ understanding the other. But, being fate, he'd ruined their unspoken pact, consequences be damned.

Fittingly, the morgue had been the big romantic setting where he'd first kissed her after a two-rewind day that had ended up in favor of him, and not her. Though it had become almost a pattern- she saved, she lost, she saved, she lost- she'd still grieved for the stranger whose life was over. After two years of watching her do this every time, he'd started saying a short, silent prayer beside her, which she had come to find comfort in.

She hadn't kissed him back at first, but after a moment of self-doubt and worries of repercussions, she'd let go and given in, both knowing they'd reached a new turning point in their relationship. Davis had startled them apart, though the man hadn't seen anything.

She'd flee, he'd pursue, she'd finally stop running, he'd find her, she'd pretend to struggle and try to reprimand him, he'd shoot her a charming smile, and they both would forget for a moment that they were contradictory characters trying to keep balance in tact in the world.

They both still did their jobs; yet the competition wasn't fueled by hate so much as pure determination to see who could come out on top that day. Sometimes, he'd even let her save a victim, even if he knew he'd easily win that round. Sometimes, she didn't put up as big a fight when all the signs in the universe were telling her that the person could not be helped. Their comments weren't as harsh, their interaction not as stiff, and their days without a victim asking for help were more and more often spent together without a hidden agenda.

It happened like that until she'd discovered Richard Davies was the one he worked for.

She'd pieced everything together after that, with help from her father. Richard explained it all to her; how he had fallen for her mother even though she was his enemy, the one he was supposed to hate, how they'd married and had a family but he'd never told her who he really was, how he had had her killed so he'd no longer have to do fate's dirty work, and finally, how she, his daughter, and he, his successor, were also destined to be drawn together by their shared burden of the calling.

He'd tried to rationalize his reasons for not telling her why he was working for her father, but she, being stubborn, rejected all of his explanations and told him they were reverting back to their good and bad identities. The gray area they'd been floating through had disappeared.

She'd returned to saving people, this time in a wild and crazy manner, while he'd sat back and let her claim victory most of the time. He'd had more added onto his plate anyway, with Richard demanding to know when he'd started an intimate relationship with his daughter and why he was letting her save so many victims, and with Harrison dogging his footsteps and threatening him every time they met.

It had taken her awhile, but she'd finally worn herself out until he'd found her months after her shocking discovery, sitting alone on a bench in a park they had frequently walked together in, questioning for the millionth time when it would all be over; when she could have a normal life. He'd sat down beside her, staring straight ahead, and had replied by placing his dry hand over her smooth one, a hand he'd memorized and reveled in being able to touch freely when life and death had been joined. He'd known at that second that all the time he'd spent with her had made him soft.

She'd found solace in his arms then, bringing back the unexplainable feelings of comfort and safety she felt with him. She'd figured that in some ways, it was easiest to fully let your guard down with the one person who was closest to knowing what you were feeling, even if he was your flip side.

He'd accepted her back easily; still surprised by how simple being with her was when no one's outcome was looming at the back of his or her mind. He'd considered the relationship between Richard and Elise, and could plainly see how his mentor could've fallen for a woman fighting for the other side, especially if mother and daughter shared some similarities.

She'd sat back slowly from his embrace, wiping her shining eyes and tear-stained cheeks and actually revealing a timid smile. He'd stood up from the bench, offering his hand to her. She'd accepted the help, and neither let go once both were on their feet.

Sometimes, they both decided silently, gray areas were okay.

He'd known it would be unlike him to share his real, true feelings for her at that moment, or at any moment for that matter; like why he got goose bumps at hearing her voice, or why he helped her save lives on occasion, or why he was his true self only with her. He'd never said anything equating to those thoughts to her ever before. Though, in the future, he wasn't so sure he could hold himself back.

She'd known that if he were any other man, at that moment she would tell him why her heart pounded when she saw him, or why her eyes softened at his smile, or why she didn't have as many biting remarks when fate claimed a life she had been trying to save. But he was who he was, and so the time wasn't right just yet. Though, in the future, she wasn't so sure she could contain herself.

As he escorted her back to the morgue, where most likely another victim was waiting to ask for her help, they both knew big things were in store for them, apart and together. Besides, without one, the other was nothing.

It was a great, unsolved mystery. Somehow, in a tumultuous four years, their feelings had changed and grown from loathing and hate to appreciation and some dysfunctional sort of love. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered. There was no life and death, or light and dark. There was just Tru and Jack; fated to be each other's balancing half.

**XXX**

_End._


End file.
